


Learning the Language of Gentleness

by ExplicitlySimple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AurorDraco, AurorHarry, Domestic Fluff, Draco is the biggest softie in love, Drarry, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Build, UnspeakableHermione, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplicitlySimple/pseuds/ExplicitlySimple
Summary: I am learning the language of softness. And it’s harder to speak when my tongue is trained razor sharp and my teeth are blades and my gums as guns. The echo of my words are bullet cases bouncing off the ground, ricocheting. When I close my mouth, someone is riddled with wounds, bleeding out into the space where a conversation was supposed to be. That is why I am learning the language of softness.orDraco wants to learn the language of being gentle. Harry wants to help.





	Learning the Language of Gentleness

**Author's Note:**

> please enjoy my very soft and very love-filled slow burn (kind of) of our favorite boys!

Hearing

 

The first time Draco knew he wanted to speak a gentle language, he heard it behind him. Despite the chill in the air, Honeydukes was crowded with young eager faces, nervously blushing teenagers and content, if a bit uncomfortable, parents. It was Friday afternoon and due to his extensive overtime, Draco packed up his paperwork and clocked out of work early. He thought stopping by the sweet shop before returning to his flat would be the first of many self-indulgences to take place that weekend. No stressful paperwork, no sullen looks, no resentful partners. Only the glow of the fireplace, the warmth of tea and blissful silence. If the line moved any faster, he was sure he could add scones somewhere in there. 

Call it another unwanted effect of the war, but crowded enclosed spaces bothered him more than he liked to admit. The tide of strangers rolled and pulled. The murmur of voices blended into a solid wall of noise. Draco would have tuned it all out, content to focus on reaching the front to order then escaping. But the soft tones of a voice behind him caught his ear. The shop was easily at its peak traffic with people clamoring over each other to be heard. Yet this voice… wasn’t trying to be heard. It was content to just say. 

“I love the way you hold onto me when we come into busy places like this. It makes me feel safe.” 

The sentence was no more than a murmur, quiet but strong. The speaker emphasized the word safe, held it strong on their tongue before pushing it out into the air. Every other word tumbled out in a neat order. But safe was the keyword; it was the backbone more than buzzwords of love and hold. 

Attention drawn, Draco subtly shifted to glance back. A young woman stood immediately behind him, her partner behind her. His arms wrapped her waist in a secure embrace with her hands layered over his. She leaned her head back to settle on his shoulder, lips poised by his ear. It was a comfortable pose for a comfortable couple. Draco could never imagine standing like that with a partner of his, even more so in public. There was a certain level of decorum to maintain. 

But as Draco stepped forward and opened his mouth to order, his throat became choked up. Propriety be damned, what if he had that? Someone to pull back against his chest, someone he could protect the world against? He would be the solid weight behind them while they whispered… Whispered what? That word, safe, kept popping back on his tongue. What did it mean to be safe with someone? 

Clearing his throat, Draco ordered then neatly stepped to the side, gaze on the box of sweets in his hand and conveniently not on the couple. The softness of her voice, the strength of his grip, the contentment on their faces replayed themselves as he exited Honeydukes. But the one thing about the couple that followed him well into the evening was the taste of the word safe. It sat heavy on his tongue, a foreign candy he wanted to chew down to the center. Sitting in his armchair by the fire, long-awaited tea on the table in front of him, he could barely focus on the book in his hands. 

Safe never meant anything good for him. It meant pleasing his father enough that Lucius didn’t cut him down with more insults. It meant standing an inch closer to Mother when darkness poured from every available surface in the Manor. It meant escaping back to Hogwarts during his last few years, eager and so so willing to endure the petty drama of wanna-be murderers rather than the actual stench of decay set into his furniture. 

Draco wouldn’t describe his current situation as safe. Post-trial he set himself on a course of redemption; he would work his arse off to join the Ministry (he did), repent and redeem his family name (almost there) and he would be a better person (in progress, kind of). Content, pleased, satisfied were more appropriate descriptors of his current situation. Draco dealt with unpleasant people and circumstances all his life but he wouldn’t allow a few unhappy coworkers ruin the life he built himself. They surely wouldn’t affect his outlook. His lot had been filled with worse. 

So why couldn’t he use the word safe? He wasn’t in any immediate danger. Maybe because, reflecting back on the couple, safety didn’t apply to the physical circumstances. It was comfort in proximity, it was love and certainty. Saying “It makes me feel safe” was the same as saying “nothing will happen to me when I am with you”. 

The knowledge that Draco had never spoken like that wasn’t surprising. His family never claimed to be the cosiest. But the knowledge that Draco wanted to speak that language, wanted someone to tell him that or wanted to tell someone else that, both liberated and terrified him. Draco swallowed the word down and promised himself he would learn how to speak that language one day. Not in the immediate future… but one day. 

 

Speaking (Part One)

 

The next time Draco learned the language of gentleness, he said it. 

Annoyingly, Friday morning briefings required the entire department to gather in one of the larger conference rooms first thing. He chose to forego his morning tea in favor of coffee, internally going down the long list of reasons why he even chose this job in the first place. Idly sipping his cup, Draco observed his co-workers as they shuffled in. Bleary eyed and sluggish, they settled down into the first seat within grabbing distance. Feigning to sniff the grade of his coffee, Draco’s eyes zeroed in on Harry Potter as he slid into the seat across the table. Unsurprisingly, his hair looked unkempt and stuck up both attractively and infuriatingly. 

Draco’s sniping remarks didn’t come from sustained petty prejudices. Post-war, Draco abandoned the moral system he knew. He shed the thinking and biases that shaped him into the coward he was. He wanted to better. He wanted to be more than he was when he allowed the Death Eaters entry into the castle. He wanted to be more than watching Granger writhe on the floor in agony. Better was a new vocabulary word to him, but when he repeated it to himself, it didn’t sound strange coming off his tongue. It popped softly. It rolled. It drifted from his lips. He added it to the growing collection of vocabulary in his language of gentleness. Right next to safe. 

As the meeting started, Draco’s thoughts kept drifting back to Potter’s hair. Sunlight filtered through the wide windows, shading Potter’s onyx hair into a deep blue. It reminded Draco, as he stared at the way the light shifted and danced, of the dungeons under Hogwarts. By no means were the dungeons dank like their reputation claimed. They were quiet and calm and private. Skylights built into the roof of the Slytherin Common Room always cast the room in a tranquil glow. When the sun shone, the room glowed jade. Jade, like the color of Potter’s eyes just then when he turned into the sunlight. Jade, like the color of Potter’s eyes when he caught Draco staring at him. 

Flustered at being caught, Draco turned away from Potter’s curious gaze. He grit his teeth and tried to pay attention to the briefing. Shacklebolt rambled on about the cold turn a case had taken. Something or another about illegal potions smuggling into Egypt. It wasn’t worth paying attention to, not when Draco already read over the notes within the briefing. Everything Shacklebolt said was old news. 

Picking up his quill, Draco started scribbling on his paper. If he faked some notes, he wouldn’t be tempted to look at Potter again. It was just… why did that tousled mess of hair remind him so much of the quiet of the dungeons? Why did those emerald eyes remind him of the glow of the common room on a overcast evening? 

Maybe because Hogwarts had always been home to him. It was safe. It was there that he escaped the cold ruin of his home. Draco didn’t feel like he was decaying into a ghost when he walked the halls. He felt comfortable; he felt safe. 

It hit him while he continued to absentmindedly write out phrases. Potter was home. Potter was safe. Draco clenched his quill tight enough to hear the slight splintering of the wood. It’s not like Draco was oblivious to his attraction to Potter; he was intimately aware of it. However, he also knew that Potter could never be his. 

That didn’t come from some sort of lingering self-deprecation. Nor did he think it because Potter was the Savior of the Wizarding World and all Draco ever could be was half redeemed Death Eater scum. No, Draco’s resolute belief that Potter could never be his was the lack of interest Potter showed… everyone. 

After his public split with the youngest Weasley, Potter remained aloof about dating. He worked late and came in early. He lived alone, as far as anyone could tell. The only times he went out, he was surrounded by either fellow Aurors or the Granger-Weasley duo. The papers only ever printed verifiable nonsense. It was that disinterest that allowed Draco to admire from afar. Potter never showed an inclination to romance. It was simple.

That wasn’t to say others hadn’t tried. Potter was more than reasonably attractive with his high cheekbones, subtle jaw and bright eyes. When he blinked, thick eyelashes gently brushed his cheeks. When he ran his long thin fingers through his hair, it came out perfectly tousled. Somewhere along the way, Potter upgraded his glasses to round gold frames. They complimented his face so well, the first time Draco saw he was tempted to send a bouquet of flowers in thanks to whoever persuaded him to switch. Auror training sculpted his body so Potter now had a lithe, muscular frame. His time hunting Horcruxes cost him some weight, but he quickly compensated with muscle. On particularly boring days, Draco found himself daydreaming about curious green eyes and trailing soft fingers….

A sudden burst of conversation abruptly brought Draco back to the present. He looked around, noticing others were gathering their folders and speaking amiably to each other. Taking the cue the meeting was over, Draco began gathering his parchment. Dimly, he overheard his colleagues making lunch plans. He knew the invitation didn’t extend to him, so he took his leave and began walking back to his office. 

Draco thought back on that day in Honeydukes and how that couple were intimately wrapped around each other. Logistically, Draco was taller so he would be the one doing the holding. Potter would lean back against him, hair tickling Draco’s cheek as he whispered quietly about how safe and loved he felt. Draco would tighten his hold around Potter’s waist, shifting him closer before he planted a kiss against his temple. He would make love an action. He would make safe a feeling. 

As Draco neared his office, a soft tug on his shirt sleeve caught his attention. Turning around, he was pleasantly surprised to see Potter standing there, glasses half down his nose and folder tucked into the crook of his arm. Draco stared at him in surprise. 

“Yes, Potter?” The man in question shifted on his feet, glasses sliding further down his nose as he looked around awkwardly. Impulsively, Draco reached out and pushed the frames back up. It wouldn’t do if they fell and cracked. They were such a nice pair after all. 

Potter’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ and his cheeks turned a slight pink at the action. Draco berated himself for being so damn enamored. Even blushing, he was heavenly. Glancing at his office door, Draco wished he walked a little faster to avoid this moment. 

Finally, Potter cleared his throat. “I, uh…” Draco watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “I… how was the briefing?” 

Draco blinked at him, then frowned. “The one we were both just at?” 

Potter laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that one. Too bad that case went cold. Would have been great to nab the bastard…” Potter continued shifting around, eyes looking everywhere but at Draco. 

Draco knew, somewhere inside, he should be elated to engage in this small talk with Potter. But something was off with this interaction. When he and Potter spoke, it revolved around their work. Sometimes, when the exhaustion of weeks staying late caught up, they would find themselves sitting together in the break room, chatting affably. Draco knew Potter never drank coffee, only tea. He kept it steeped for an infuriatingly long time to drain the leaves of all flavor. Draco thought that meant it stayed disgustingly bitter, but the time he brought that up, Potter only laughed and took a sip. 

But whatever this was... was not the same as their late night conversations. It was tinged with nerves and maybe a bit of panic judging by the tense set of Potter’s shoulders. Draco decided to get right to the point. 

“Potter, what is this about? I know you didn’t accost on my way back to talk about our personal feelings on illegal potions smuggling.” 

Potter looked at Draco for a moment then nodded resolutely. “No, no you’re right. I didn’t. Oh Merlin, I am really rubbish at this.” Potter paused and breathed in deeply. He squared his shoulders and met Draco’s gaze head on. “I wanted to ask if you would like have dinner with me. Go on a date. A dinner date, in the evening.” 

Surprise and no lack of shock caught Draco. Potter had just asked him on a date. His breath stuttered. His eyebrows rose. He might have to visit St. Mungo’s so they could restart his heart. Draco had just spent the entirety of the meeting imagining Potter wrapped intimately around him and now the real flesh and blood person stood in front of him, asking him on a date. Was something in his coffee? 

Potter misinterpreted his silence as rejection because he began rambling. “I’m sorry if I got things wrong if you’re not interested that way. It’s just… I saw you staring at me this morning and you had this look in your eyes and this flush on your cheeks and I began thinking about how I’ve seen that look on your face a few times before. Well more than a few times.” Draco felt his face heat up. So he’d been more obvious than he thought. “And I wanted to take this chance. Listen, it’s ok if you say no, I won’t be hurt or anything. I’m just…” Potter trailed off and looked away. Draco noticed the shy smile on his face. 

Draco swallowed and took a moment to regain his composure. “Yes.” 

Potter’s gaze swept back to him in a rush, eyes going wide. “Yes?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Are you deaf and blind? I said yes.” 

“Really?” 

Draco resisted the urge to throttle the adorable idiot. He chose to nod instead. A blinding grin broke out on Potter’s face and Draco’s heart started beating four times its speed. Oh yeah after this he was definitely going to St. Mungos. Maybe he would also have them for hallucinations. Just to make sure. 

“Awesome. Uh, I’ll swing by your flat tomorrow around seven thirty. See you then.” Draco resisted the urge to break out in a grin because the happiness on Potter’s face was dangerously contagious. But he did allow a small quirk of his lips, then nodded again. Turning away to unlock his office door, he threw one last small smile at Potter. 

“Don’t get lost.” With that, he entered his office and closed the door behind him. Leaning heavily against it, he placed a trembling hand over his heart. It felt like it was going to burst through his chest then walk back out the door. His heart would stand in front of Potter and say everything he didn’t yet know how to speak. It felt good to say yes to something he wanted and to someone who wanted him back. 

There were still certain words in the language of gentleness Draco had yet to explore, but saying yes felt just right on his tongue. 

\- 

Getting ready for a date with Harry Potter almost killed Draco. And he meant that honestly. Several times, he nearly cut himself shaving because his hands shook too much. Almost spilled boiling water down the front of his pants pouring tea because he was too distracted thinking about Potter’s eyes. Had to put out a small fire when he missed the fireplace by a considerable margin when replaying the way Potter blushed. It’s not like he necessarily liked that part of the carpet anyway. 

Settling down onto his sofa, Draco checked the clock over the mantlepiece once more. 7:15. It’s not like Draco woke up ridiculously early Saturday morning to clean his entire flat. Nor did he spend time after debating what type of outfit he would wear. Potter hadn’t even told him where they were going. He couldn’t underdress, but in equal measure, he didn’t want to seem pretentious by over-dressing. Such a dilemma caused Draco to Floo-call Pansy in Paris, who thoroughly interrogated him when he informed her he would be going on a date. 

After their disaster relationship during term, Draco and Pansy remained close. The end of their relationship was caused more by stress and Draco’s inclination toward men than any ill-feeling on their part. Pansy was one of Draco’s few friends left after the war and he treasured their friendship immeasurably. Of course, he would never tell the gossiping cow that in his lifetime. 

Pansy advised Draco to wear the tailored grey trousers that highlighted the slim fit of legs along with the collared navy jumper she bought him for Yule last year. She examined him closely, then nodded in approval. Before she disconnected, she muttered something about ridiculously attractive gits always being uninterested in women. 

Draco shifted nervously, fixing his hair obsessively. If his mother were there, she would swat at his hands until he clenched them in his lap. Deciding to channel his energy elsewhere, Draco began pacing. He firmly did not dwell on the technicalities; the why’s and how’s and how long and all the other questions that plagued Draco. If he allowed himself to wonder, he would end up caught far too much in his own head. No, he learned it was better to let things happen without the neurotic need to examine and analyze. 

If Potter noticed his interest and wanted to ask him on a date, so be it. If Draco happened to enjoy such a date, so be it. 

Draco focused on affirmations: it was okay for him to be happy. It was okay for him to want this. Part of his healing from the trauma of war meant healing from his self- inflicted shame. He acted horribly before but he atoned. He didn’t need to punish himself for the rest of his life. Draco was allowed to be happy. And if such happiness involved Harry Potter in some way or another, well he could allow that too. 

A knock at the door drew him out his thoughts. Glancing at the clock, he noticed it was already 7:25. Draco guessed burning a hole in his carpet passed time well. Inhaling deeply, he walked over the door and swung it open. 

Potter stood, brows creased and hands stuffed into his pocket. He looked just as nervous as Draco felt. At least it looked like he tried styling his hair before running his hands through it impulsively, an action he repeated as Draco stood in the doorway. 

“Potter.” 

“Call me Harry.” 

Draco nodded. “Harry.” Opening the door and stepping aside, Draco ushered Harry into his flat. Both paused, gazing at each other for before blushing and looking away. Draco glanced around for his overcoat while Harry shuffled further inside. He checked out his flat and Draco felt infinitely grateful he chose to clean earlier. 

“Nice place. I really like the white carpet.” Harry complimented, before focusing on the burnt corner by the fireplace. “Do I want to know?” At Draco’s guilty shake of his head, he laughed lightly. 

Using the excuse of retrieving his coat, Draco steadied his hands. It was just a date. But, his mind argued, it was a date with the person Draco spent countless hours pining over. Adamant that Draco was not about to follow this train of thought and thus dissolve into a pile of nerves, he turned back to Harry. 

Only to find him sitting down on the couch, hands twisted around each other staring into the fire. The orange glow reflected the gold of his frames, making them glitter and shine. Shadows danced in the hollows of his cheekbones. He became violently beautiful in the firelight. Draco swallowed audibly. Harry noticed and smiled, light shining off his teeth. In the glow of the fire, he became a star. 

Draco was in deep. 

 

Listening 

 

One of the most complicated parts of learning a new language is the nuance. Certain phrases mean certain things and if one knows how to listen carefully, what someone says and what they mean are different. Words are important but so is the intent.

So when at the end of the date at a ridiculously private and discreet restaurant with their own Floo network no less, Harry said thank you for coming with me tonight, Draco heard something different. Maybe it was because of the way the candlelight captured the green of Harry’s eyes perfectly. Or the tender way Harry stroked his thumb over Draco’s hand where he held it on the table. Or the way Harry engaged him when he spoke, incredibly curious about everything Draco said. 

What Draco heard when Harry said thank you for coming was more along the lines of thank you for trusting me with this part of you and thank you for your willingness and thank you for being here. 

And when the date ended the same place it started, in front of Draco’s door, they stood flushed and buzzing with warmth. The night had gone remarkably well. Draco appreciated Harry’s choice because it was exactly somewhere Draco prefered to go. Conversation flowed naturally between them, the full picture of what they only hinted at when speaking late in the break room. 

Glancing at Harry, Draco thought the food couldn’t compare to the delicious sight Harry made when he bit his lower lip in thought. When Harry leaned in slowly with an obvious focus on Draco’s lips, he let him. He remembered his affirmations: he was allowed to want this. 

When Harry kissed him gently, soft lips hesitant but kind, Draco heard I forgive you. I will never hold your past against you. 

And as Draco kissed back, he responded with thank you. 

-

Each time Harry and Draco had a date night, Draco heard something different than what was said. At first, he believed his overactive imagination took control of his ears and forced him into a nightmare where Harry said all the right things. It couldn’t possibly be real, he reasoned. There was no way Harry knew just what to say on the good bad and all the days in between. It wasn’t like Draco came with an instruction manual. 

But, the patient and logical part of him said, maybe it was because Harry was also listening. Maybe Draco wasn’t even aware of saying something and meaning something different, waiting for acknowledgement to truth he couldn’t put words to. It became clear to him one night in Harry’s flat, where they were cuddled together on his disastrously red sofa. Harry recently introduced him to the television, and after some trepidation amd a few intense bouts of research, he couldn’t get enough. Some American documentary about the mistreatment of whales played on the screen and Draco, so wrapped up in the disappointing management of marine life, nearly missed Harry’s voice rising up to him. 

“Draco, why are you laying like that? There are more comfortable ways to do this you know.” 

Draco hummed absentmindedly, attention caught on the case of the dead amusement park worker. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Harry snorted. “Watched a documentary?” 

“No, you daft idiot. This,” Draco gestured at their intertwined bodies, “I’ve never cuddled or whatever you call it.” It was quiet for a moment, and after becoming conscious of Harry’s uncharacteristic silence, he turned to look at him. Only to find green eyes intensely staring at him. Draco wouldn’t have been concerned if it wasn’t for the deep crease between Harry’s eyebrows. 

Reaching over, he gently ran a finger down Harry’s forehead to his nose, ending with a little tap on the end. “What is it?” 

“It’s just..” Harry cleared his throat and looked away. “I guess you didn’t grow up much for affection, huh.” It’s not like Draco meant to say that no, he didn’t because his house was filled with a chill that settled in his bones and it was only through the warmth of Harry that he slowly defrosted. Somehow Harry heard it anyway. Without him having to pull such words out of his throat. Based on how rigid Draco laid. 

Maybe Draco could get used to being listened to and not just heard. 

Draco stared back, back into those green eyes reflecting pools and skies and life and death. And he leaned up to lay a soft kiss on Harry’s lips, bright red from where he had been worrying his bottom lip. 

“No, I didn’t. But you’re teaching me.” He hoped Harry heard the unspoken and that’s more than I could ever ask for. Thank you for noticing. Thank you for your patience. Draco turned back to the documentary and reached for the remote to rewind. He hoped what he said wasn’t too cheesy. He hoped Harry would get it. 

Draco breathed in deep, inhaling burning firewood and coconut shampoo, and let the unconscious tension bleed from his body. Settling deeper into the cushion, he wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist and pulled the throw further over them. Harry nodded and placed his head on Draco’s chest, but not before placing a kiss on his cheek. his unspoken You’re welcome rang loud in Draco’s ears. 

Reading 

Healing wasn’t always as clear cut as putting a bandage over a wound. It could be messy. It could be an angry gash leaking fire and bitterness. It could be an ache so deep in the body the only way to get it out is to reach your cells. Draco never claimed to be a paragon of mental health and stability. His numerous issues threw obstacle after obstacle in the path of his healing journey and sometimes his spite against himself was the only thing that kept him going.  
But then, he began learning the language of gentleness. It wasn’t the easiest to master, nor remember in the moments where his throat closed and his vision blurred and he was back in that place, on the floor with her and him looming over him and oh merlin oh merlin oh merlin. Some days he barely wanted to leave his bed. Shame sat heavily on his chest. 

Today was the anniversary of his mother’s death and no amount of affirmations or self-care penetrated his haze. He tried to remind himself that he was only a young impressionable child desperate for love and attention. He would have done anything for his father to look at him and be proud. And look where that landed his mother: half-dead due to stress. After the war and their trial, her health steadily declined until she became a shell. A sunken, hollow shell of a woman whose ambition of keeping her family together killed her. 

Looking down at his forearm, he felt nothing but vicious disgust. He caused this. He was part of the reason his mother was dead. All he touched turned black and ugly. 

Insistent tapping on the window drew his attention. It was routine for Draco to request the day off from work. It was an unwritten rule to leave him alone. The last time someone tried to reach him, he promptly owled back a succinct fuck off. Message received. So walking over to open the window, Draco wasn’t surprised to see a Ministry standard carrier owl. Draco swore to all the old gods and new if this was a request to come in for a stupid mission they couldn’t handle like a bunch of overgrown children…

Aggressively pulling the note open, his black mood lessened the more he read. Harry’s handwriting, although awful, was deciperable. He could really make use of a few grammar charms too. Yet in spite of himself and the terrible day and the badly penned note, Draco felt a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He was nowhere in the right mind to pen a similar type of missive, so all he sent back was: Come over after work. Bring dinner. 

If Draco continued his day clutching Harry’s note, no one had to be the wiser. Harry came after work with Draco’s favorite takeout wafting from a wrapped bag and the kindest look in his eyes, his note tucked into the back pocket of Draco’s sweats. No one commented on the anniversary or the dull red lines running down Draco’s forearm. They ate around conversation about what Draco missed at work. Apparently, a trainee confused the files for a dangerous criminal and a low-rank offender and Shacklebolt nearly went mad. Harry met Granger and Weasley for lunch down at one of the newer restaurants popping up. Harry regaled Draco with Granger’s work, the very interesting and fascinating life of an Unspeakable, meaning that he didn’t really say anything noteworthy. The longer he talked about nothing in particular, the more the shadows in Draco’s eyes went away. 

After dinner they laid on the bed together, Harry clutching him tightly as his body shook with sobs. He tried desperately to hold it in, but the word safe bounced up from his newfound vocabulary. The demons that tore him this way and that couldn’t reach him in Harry’s arms. If he was being honest, the feeling started way before Harry even arrived at his flat. It began with his note. 

Draco,  
I know today is the anniversary of your mum’s passing. While that isn’t the best way to start this, I want you to know I know. I know what it’s like to have a mum shaped hole in your life, but not what it means to feel their loss keenly. I didn’t grow up with mine, but you did. 

And so I want to say this: you are not to blame for your mum’s death. You are not a monster. The mark on your arm doesn't define you or your pain. Today is hard and it may always be hard. It’s ok to not be ok. But it’s not hard because it’s your fault. Its hard because you miss your mother who you loved and who loved you back. You’ll always love her. Grieve her but don’t destroy yourself in the process. 

You are an intelligent, witty, sarcastic bastard who makes me laugh so hard I snort. You talk circles around people almost better than Hermione (don’t tell her I said that). I am so drawn to you sometimes I wonder if I’m under a spell. But that’s all just you. You, who is not defined by your past or mistakes or that mark on your arm. 

I’m here for whatever you need. I’ll always be here for whatever you need. 

~ H.J.P 

That feeling of safety latched onto him in the same way he held onto Harry. Harry, who wasn’t trying to fix him or shape his grief into something it wasn’t. Harry, who simply wanted to support him when he needed it most. Draco didn’t need murmured encouragement and false hopes; he needed a warm chest against his back and solid arms around his waist. He needed the way Harry nuzzled his face into Draco’s neck. He needed the steady beat of his heart. 

After the hiccups subsided, Harry’s muffled voice spoke. “Did you get my note?” 

Draco took a moment to swallow down more tears. “Yes.” Draco felt him nod. 

“What did you think?” 

“I don’t know if you could tell, but I was having quite the day. But when I got your note… I didn’t feel so heavy anymore.” Harry kissed his temple, his lips warm and comforting. 

“There will always be more notes if you need them.” 

“Might need to work on your penmanship if you’re going to start sending love letters.” Harry chuckled. Draco felt the rumble deep in his ribs. 

“Oh you love my handwriting, admit it. Gotta keep you humble.” Turning his head, Draco caught Harry’s lips before more nonsense came out. Draco would gladly take every single one of Harry Potter’s notes, even if they weren’t strictly love letters. He savored the one folded in his pocket the most. 

 

Writing

 

Draco was no stranger to disaster. In his experience, the universe deliberated, planned and plotted for the right moment of catastrophe. Like the takeover of his childhood home and only reprieve by a genocidal megalomaniac. Or the intense pressure from his one role model to join a murderous supremacist cult. Or the death of his mother shortly after he surfaced for air by the tips of his platinum hair. Disaster did not discriminate; Draco knew that well. 

Which is why when the Monday morning edition of the Prophet ran a photo of Draco and Harry walking down the street side by side, hands swaying neatly apart, it didn’t seem like such a problem. They were colleagues entitled to walking next to each other. Such thin justifications didn’t hold up however, since the photo also showed 1. the second their fingers gently brushed 2. how they wrapped their pointer fingers together in a shy salute to hand-holding and 3. The breathtakingly love filled look Draco sent Harry as he smiled back at him. 

All things considered it was a beautiful photo. Draco mentally noted to frame it in his bedroom. However, in light of the volume of noise growing closer, he would not have time for such crafts. He especially knew that to be true when Harry burst through his office door, flushed cheeks and wild eyes. His glasses hung onto his nose by the barest margin. He must have came right after the morning delivery, Draco reasoned. Draco didn’t bother smothering the warmth that bloomed in his chest at that thought. If this wasn't an impending emergency he would have kissed that look right off his face. Unfortunately, Weasley and Granger trailed behind. He also saw a few curious faces peering around the doorframe waiting, like the vultures they were. 

Granger was the first to speak in the tense silence. “Harry, tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” Her voice held a degree of polite pleading, as if she wanted to beg but didn’t want to be overtly insult Draco. He snorted at the thought. Granger shot him a look, turning her pleading eyes back to Harry who resolutely met her on.

“And what do you think it is?”

“Oh don’t play coy, mate! It looks like you and Malfoy shacked up.” Ron jumped into the conversation then, obviously just as confused as Granger. 

Harry bowed his head for a moment then looked at Malfoy. He would let Harry take the lead on this one since it was his friends after all. Draco resisted the urge to be snide, or worse, to kick them all out, cast the strongest privacy spells permissible within the Ministry and pull Harry close to him. It was their relationship between two grown consenting adults. If he didn’t already love Harry so much, he would have stopped this before it began. But the words respect boundaries trust bounced in his mouth. This was Harry’s fight. 

“Yes, it’s exactly what it looks like.” Considering the very obvious photo and declaration, Draco expected them to respond with more sense. Instead, they gaped at Harry, confusion playing across their features. 

“But..” Granger stumbled over her words. “But-you.. Why didn’t you tell us? Is this where you’ve been going when you said you were busy?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. One thing he would never miss was someone feeling entitled to his time - thank Morgana Pansy was in Paris or else he would face a similar situation. Speaking of, he might want to block his Floo connection for a few days… 

“Because I didn’t feel like I needed to. Draco and I are taking things slow.” 

“But we’re your friends! Friends tell each other things!”

A deep breathe. “Listen, I love you guys very much but I’m allowed to keep things to myself. We know everything about each other, and I mean everything on the side of too much. You guys are my family. But I’m also entitled to a private life.” 

By this time, some form of a crowd had gathered outside his door. Usually, Draco celebrated this type of attention lathered on him, but the intensity of the gazes almost made him shift. Draco squared his shoulders and met the gazes head on, daring them to keep staring. Most didn’t. Draco turned his attention back to the Golden Trio who continued to interrupt his work schedule. 

“- of course you’re allowed your privacy but you would think something this big warranted a little chat..”

“Yeah, over a cup of tea, how’s Ginny, Luna’s new article was interesting, I’m dating Malfoy, Neville’s work sounds exciting in the Amazon. That type of thing. Not something we find out from the bloody Prophet.” 

“I’m sorry you found out that way. We didn’t mean for it to break like that.” At this, Harry looked back to Draco. They never really talked about how they wanted to go public necessarily, but front page Prophet was definitely nowhere on the list. In fact, they kept their relationship relatively private because they wanted to enjoy it uninterrupted for as long as possible. Subconsciously, they knew as soon as news broke, everyone would jump in with their opinion. Like now. 

“But that’s the way it did, so now you have some explaining to do.” Granger vaguely resembled his mother with the sternness of her voice and the set of her lips and it all became too much. Harry didn’t fare much better. Draco watched him visibly withdraw, eyes darting around and hands wringing nervously. Harry didn’t like this situation anymore than Granger did and he especially did not like being on the spot for it. 

“As fun as recounting me sweeping Potter off his feet sounds, I’m cutting this episode short.” Draco gestured toward the door and spoke to the group outside. “Don’t you all have work to do or am I the best thing you’ll look at all day?” With a few disgruntled replies, they dispersed. Only Granger and Weasley resolutely remained, eyes trained on Harry. Draco felt his patience give way. “That includes you too.”

“We aren’t going anywhere until-”

Draco cut her off. “You two can handle this later, not during my precious lunch break.” Draco gestured to the door again. Granger huffed, sent one last look at Harry, then motioned for Ron to follow her. 

“Later Harry.” She threw out behind her before closing the door. Harry simply nodded. 

“Oh how nice. She closed the door without even having to ask.” Harry continued standing in the center of the office, staring at the closed office door. 

“Come here,” Draco muttered, reaching out to draw Harry close to him. Settling himself into Draco’s arms, Draco felt slight shudders running through his frame. Morgana, Draco would sue the Prophet for everything they had if he didn’t secretly want to thank them. All he did in the moment was pull Harry tighter and soothingly trace patterns over his back. After a while, the shudders stopped. His breathing evened out. He pulled back but didn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes. 

“Hey,” Draco said quietly, “look at me. Talk to me.” Harry sighed heavily, the breathe coming from a deep place inside him. Respect. Boundaries. Trust. 

“I just hate it. This, us.. It’s so special to me. I’ve always been the Golden Boy. I’ve lived my life through the papers, through everyone else. Just for once, I wanted this for me.” He shook his and gave a tiny self-deprecating smile. “That probably doesn’t make much sense.” 

Draco pulled him tighter and placed a light kiss against his cheek. “I understand love. I want you all to myself sometimes I don’t want you to leave my flat. This is just for us and will always be just for us, bugger the paper.” Harry knew what just for us meant; the intimacy and the gentle handling of the other and the respect and the privacy and the infinite and endless goodness that they radiated when around the other. 

After a moment of silence, Harry shifted awkwardly. “I really like you, you know.”

Draco flashed him a smile. “Oh really Potter, I wouldn’t have known. Guess this is all because we’re good mates.”

“Quit it you jerk. You know what I meant. I don’t want this, the Prophet, my friends, the attention… I don’t want it to change anything.” Harry focused on tracing Draco’s cheekbones, suddenly finding the skin there utterly fascinating. 

Draco watched him for a moment. Harry was afraid this would scare him away. “It would never. Harry, the way I feel about you… there’s some things that won’t get in the way of that.” 

Harry breathed out a relieved laugh. “Who knew Draco Malfoy was secretly a poet?”

“Oh look who’s the jerk now.” 

“A very kissable jerk.

“A very kissable jerk indeed.” Draco pulled him between his legs and did just that. 

-

Since the day had been so exhausting, Harry opted to rest at his own flat instead of going back with Draco. He understood; in the light of disaster relief you needed some space to reorient yourself. When everything gets thrown around indiscriminately, it takes time to pick up the picture frames and fix the furniture. Draco knew Harry’s day hadn’t gotten any better after he left Draco’s office. He wanted to hold onto him for as long as possible to shield him from the judgemental gazes and the questioning looks and the passive-aggressive speeches about the quality of the dating market. 

Draco handled the judgement borne of his actions like a fortified armor; everything they said about him, he too told himself at one time. While he didn’t believe it anymore, the presence of the words rang familiar. Harry... he wasn’t the same. To have the same people who venerated him turn against him for something as innocuous and private as his dating life… it tore at him. Draco observed how he took several deep breaths and shook his head before stepping out. It angered Draco in inarticulable ways; Harry deserved better. Draco was half a mind away from requesting the rest of the day off for both of them and sequestering Harry away, stuffing him with his favorite foods and Muggle television shows. He knew Harry wanted to fight his own battles, was more than capable, but that fierce protectiveness burned in him even after the door closed. 

After work, Draco bid goodbye to his gossip vultures of co-workers with a plan forming in his mind. Harry could fight his battles. That didn’t mean Draco didn’t have defense of his own. 

-

To Whom It May Concern,

Days ago, a story broke about the nature of my relationship with Harry J. Potter, proclaimed Golden Boy and Savior of the Wizarding World. Predictably, this story was met with harsh and swift judgment due to my past actions. If what I am speaking about is unfamiliar, I am talking about my allegiances during the Second World War, all sins of which I have acknowledged and atoned for. I continue to atone for my actions to this very day well into my adulthood. Such is the nature of growth. 

As part of my growth, I have realized that some will never change their minds about the past nor will they ever acknowledge the progress you have made. I cannot begrudge those who feel this way about me because of the impact (for better or worse) I have left on their lives. Like stated earlier, I atone everyday. 

However, the reason I penned this open letter is for those who project their judgment of me onto Harry because of the nature of our relationship. At this point, I can no longer deny that he and I are involved. Harry is the brightest star to shine in the Wizarding World and it’s not because of his heroism. He is kind, gentle, patient and loving to all. He has faced innumerable challenges and had impossible odds against him. I despised him in the past because I couldn’t see past his brightness. When he comes into contact with someone, he lightens everything. He has lightened this world of the burden of supremacy. His light pours forth love and kindness. He entered this world alone except for a label. Now he exists beyond definition. 

While he is the Savior of the Wizarding World, he also saved one more thing: me. Everyday, he teaches me how to love gently, how to speak kindly, how to be better. Because of him, I am no longer alone in this world. Because of him, I know what it means to be adored fully and loved unconditionally. Because of him, I have the courage to pen this letter for everyone and anyone to read.

So I ask this: no matter how you feel about me, please spare your judgement on Harry. I bear my burden alone. He deserves nothing but the love and light he pours forth into the world. Be a better world for his love to exist in. 

~ Draco S. Malfoy

Sometimes being gentle is also being brave. Despite his deeply private inclinations, Draco knew this was something he had to do. If they simply didn’t respond, rumors and speculation would overrun them. Draco, and especially, Harry had enough of that for one lifetime. Besides making himself an embarrassingly easy target for ridicule, righting the letter was a tactic taken from the highest gossip circles. If they wanted to talk about you, give them something that they can’t turn against you. 

Draco breathed in deep. He repeated to himself: sometimes being gentle is being brave sometimes being gentle is being brave sometimes being gentle is being brave. He could have resorted to blackmail or outright legal action, but Draco had something to protect more than his privacy. He had Harry. Draco recalled the moment in the coffee shop all those months ago, and the couple wrapped around each other. He remembered the unspoken words and the glances and the expansion of their boundaries until Harry and Draco became Harry&Draco and then HarryDraco. He thought about his learning journey of loving himself and allowing himself to love another person. And that’s what it was when it came down to it: he allowed himself to love Harry and Harry let him. Along his marked forearm and scarred past and his broken moments, Harry loved him. 

Sometimes being gentle is allowing yourself to be vulnerable. It’s tearing down the carefully constructed walls built as a self-protective prison all your life to let in the light that is Harry Potter. It’s learning an unspoken but heavily used language of love. Its publishing a love letter in Britain’s most read newspaper. 

 

Speaking (Part Two)

 

Draco once considered studying Gobbledegook, and while he didn’t remember any of it, a passage stuck with him from the instruction manual: before engaging with a new language, ask yourself these questions: How are the sentences structured? How do they work and why? What is it about the intersection of grammar and vocabulary that makes sense?

For example, saying “I love you” can be used in the most mundane of instances to show appreciation or companionship. If someone does you a favor, gets you your favorite treat or makes a particularly funny remake, you can use it jokingly. 

One thing Draco carefully considered as he stared down the velvet box was efficiency. How could he maximize his sentiment all in one sentence? What would make it powerful and loving, sweet and honest without being flashy? I love you was too boring. Draco didn’t learn this love language for a three word sentence. Besides, it went beyond I love you. Sometimes Draco was so full of Harry’s love, he could open his mouth and stars fell out. Sometimes, his dreams became nothing Harry’s scent. 

Harry even let him publish that letter in the Daily Prophet, despite his reservations about privacy. He understood Draco needed it for his own piece of mind just as much as he did, no matter how public it was. And it went over better than Draco ever anticipated. Positive sentiment about their relationship skyrocketed. The myth of Harry Potter took on epic proportions; he wasn’t just the Savior but now a noble, kind hearted loving Savior. Draco was left alone except for swoony eyed and lovesick fools who looked at him like their patron saint. 

Harry never stopped surprising Draco with his patience and love. Draco never stopped cherishing it as the gift it was. And now it was time for Draco to officialize his devotion. In the name of all cliche sentiments, Draco brought Harry back to the restaurant where they had their first date. It remained private, quiet and discreet. For the things Draco was about to say, he didn’t need any noise. 

The entire time, Draco repeated affirmations to himself: it was okay for him to be happy. It was okay for him to be ridiculously happy in love. It was okay for him to love Harry Potter and for Harry Potter to love him back. He came so far from his poisonous self hate. He learned how to love not only in words but in action; through touch and listening and reading and speaking. He learned to be gentle is to be many things but it ultimately comes down to this: to be gentle is to love. 

So when Harry’s favorite dessert came out, Draco took his hand and looked at him. Truly, honestly looked at him. Unspoken, the weight of the moment sat heavy between them. Sometimes words didn’t exist. All that existed was the little brown flecks in Harry’s green eyes, the slight dimple in his right chin, the tanness of his skin, the red quirk of his lips. All that mattered was the utter devotion and love that morphed into surprise when Draco slid the ring on his Harry’s finger.

“Before you, I was trying to learn the language of being gentle. I didn’t know what that sounded like, what it looked like or what it felt like. It was abstract. Existed outside of my reality. But you, you exist within every reality I have ever known. And your presence is a magnet that draws light and love and kindness. That day you asked me for dinner was the day learning how to be gentle became real. And it only became more and more concrete until all I wanted to do was love you as gently as possible. And that’s because you taught me that. Your patience, your kindness and your light made love a reality for me.With you, I learned how to say yes and safe and mean it. With you I learned how to accept and gift love in all its forms: written, spoken, physically. ” Draco paused to collect himself, feeling his chest constrict with the sheer volume of emotion inside him. 

“I could say I love you a million ways, but I’ll say this instead. Harry, I don’t want to go back to a reality where you aren’t by my side. As our days change and we change, I’ll love you the same way I love you now. Completely. Fully. With all of me. Harry Potter, will you marry me?” 

Draco watched in silence, heart in his throat, as Harry stared back at him in shock, green eyes filling with tears. Then he smiled brilliantly and bright, his face alight. He swallowed back more tears then pulled Draco out of his seat. 

“Yes.” 

Yes was the first word in Draco’s language of gentleness and at the sound of it, he couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to anyone who read! It took me super long to actually write this, so I appreciate all of you reading this in the first place. much love xoxo


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